To Steal from a Demon (A Wielders Novel Book 2)

by Max Anthony

  “Another office!” thought Skulks. “These smuggler types seem to like their offices!” For some reason, Skulks found himself becoming bored with offices. It was true that he’d stolen quite successfully from offices in the recent past, but he longed for a room stuffed with rare and unusual artefacts. He liked to see the odd pickled lizard in a jar, or dangling skeleton when he was stealing from people. It kept his job interesting. The only thing of interest in this room was a large potted plant of a variety Skulks had not seen before, which was unusual in itself for Skulks had more than a passing interest in flora. It had a thick green stem, but a large and bulbous tip as if it were ready to burst into flower.

  “If I wanted to see the inside of an office, I’ve got a perfectly functioning office of my own back in the Chamber Building!” he said to himself, almost in a state of high dudgeon, even though Skulks was effectively blaming the victim of his crime for not making his work interesting enough.

  Having decided to play the odds and search the desk first, Skulks’ approach was interrupted by a tiny popping sound behind him, improving his mood immediately, for such poppings generally heralded the arrival of something demonic and unpleasant. Looking for the source of the pop, Skulks spotted it on the carpet behind him. It was only three feet tall and humanoid with a leering face and big eyes. As he watched, it waved its clawed hands around as if casting a spell. There was an unmistakable look of concentration on its face for whatever it was doing didn’t seem to be going quite to plan.

  “Get ‘im, lads!” it growled. Nothing happened.

  Still alive by Skulks’ indulgence it gave up whatever it was attempting and hurled a tiny ball of flame at him, burning a large hole in the leg of his trousers.

  “My only pants!” Skulks said in dismay, throwing back a dagger-sword and pinning the demon to the wall where it gurgled once or twice before slumping in death. With the horrible beast killed, Skulks retrieved his dagger, disconcerted at this turn of events.

  “I shall speak to Adept Berry about it later,” he told himself, returning to the desk.

  The plant rustled as he passed it, disturbed to an unusual degree by his feet, for Skulks generally made no sound as he walked. The plant rustled some more as he looked through the desk, helping himself to a quantity of gold rings and nearly two hundred Scroats. As he looked for signs of a safety-box, the rustlings became a positive frenzy, finally bringing the sound to Skulks’ attention.

  “Why that’s a very noisy plant,” he told himself as tendrils of it sneakily wrapped themselves around his feet. “I must look at it more closely once I’ve found the safety-box,” he continued to himself as barbed suckers planted themselves onto his back, injecting him with a pain-killing toxin to fool his body into thinking all was well.

  “Perhaps it’s one of those rare species from a remote island in Treads.” So went his monologue as the plant started sucking the juice from his body. Suddenly becoming aware that something was amiss, Skulks made to stand, only then finding that his feet were firmly entangled and that something was attached to his back. As he struggled, his back came alight with pain as two or three of the barbed suckers were pulled free, one of them burping as its meal was interrupted.

  Having been recently assailed by baboons and now a plant, Skulks was starting to wonder if he was cut out for a life in the country, before his brain reminded him that all of these attacks were taking place in the city and that he’d probably be safer if he lived in a field.

  At this point, the plant had tendrils wrapped tightly about Skulks’ neck and was attempting to squeeze the life from him while it tried to guzzle as much of his blood as it could manage. Rolling over, Skulks was able to tip the plant onto the floor by kicking its pot until it toppled, whereupon he continued rolling in the hope that he could squash the plant into submission. Something burst, spilling blood onto the floor, though it was not the plant’s blood but that of Skulks, for his rolling had ruptured the stomach in which it had stored its Wielder meal for later digestion.

  Seeing his juices spread so carelessly upon the floor, Skulks was renewed with vigour, biting through a tendril and tearing it from his neck. He punched the bulbous tip of the plant twice and watched as it wobbled and bobbled on the floor as if he were beating a sack of lard. He punched it again and then grabbed it, digging his fingers in and squeezing. The plant shook fearfully, withdrawing the tendrils from his neck and directing them to the hands which were so cruelly tearing at it. Having no pity, Skulks redoubled his efforts, finally ripping a big hole in the bulb, through which a thick green glop flowed freely. Skulks thrust a hand inside and found a number of objects which he took to be the plant’s organs. Grabbing one, he twisted it and pulled it free from its roots. The plant shuddered and ceased its attempts to eat him.

  As Skulks stood up from his leafy adversary, he found to his vexation that numerous barbed suckers remained lodged in his back, pulling at his skin but reluctant to break free. Setting himself to the unpleasant task, Skulks grabbed each sucker in turn and wrenched them away, each time causing himself a considerable amount of discomfort. Further to his exasperation he discovered, by the time he’d torn all bar two of them off, that if he squeezed just so, the suckers would detach without causing further trauma to his tattered back.

  With the sorry-looking plant lying dismally on the office floor, Skulks resumed his search for any property the Popples might no longer want. He looked something of a mess, with his torn trousers and tunic, with blood drying upon his back. His hardy Wielder’s constitution would see him hale and hearty once more by the evening, but his apparel was now in a dreadful state. Thoughts of clothing were far from Skulks’ mind as he had discovered a small, but heavy box, the size of his two fists together. Inside it was lined in rich velvet, all the better to cosset the king’s ransom in gems it contained. Skulks tipped the gems into a pocket and left the box, even now hungry for more thievery. He was disappointed to find nothing to match the value of the gems but only slightly so, for a hidden hatch in a book case revealed a small golden statue and a bag of some five thousand Scroats.

  Now quite heavily burdened with loot, Skulks left the office and closed it behind him. Making himself once more a part of the shadows, he descended the stairs, only now realising he’d promised Tullis he’d come back with some toys. Recalling a toy box in one of the rooms he’d explored earlier, Skulks went for another look. Opening it up, he found it was stuffed with toys suitable for the son of a rich man or lady. Unable to carry all of them, Skulks selected a beautifully carved figurine of a dashing figure dressed all in black. The figure held a sword in each hand, looking for all the world like a daring prince, set to scale the walls of a wizard’s tower. Thinking that Tullis might also like a toy to play the part of the evil and dastardly opponent of this princely thief, Skulks drew forth a poorly-formed bagatelle. It was grubby and battered, with its colours faded. Two little feet protruded from under a faded green robe and a wizard’s hat could be seen on top of its featureless face. It smelled faintly of dog. Pocketing these items, Skulks made his way from the house and into the back lane once more, already imagining the look of joy on Tullis’ face as he took hold of these new toys.

  Having returned without incident to Lula Grindy’s safe house, Skulks found it was now home to much activity as Grindy got word to her supporters that she was free. People were coming and going, all of them looking like they knew what they were doing. Grindy herself was once more bemused to find a pile of valuable items dropped carelessly upon her kitchen table.

  “The people of Casks won’t forget this!” she told him.

  “Do you think you can beat Meugh?”

  “Maybe. I think most of the old lads will fight for me. Some of the new ones and Warmont’s men? Maybe not.” She smiled. “Let’s hope Meugh lacks the money to pay them now.”

  Skulks heard a new voice. “Uncle Tan?”

  “Hello Tullis. Do you like Aunty Lula?”

  The boy’s eyes were shining, for he’d been the
centre of attention most of the day. “Yes, she’s nice!”

  Skulks reached inside his tunic and pulled forth the two toys.

  “Oh thank you, Uncle Tan!” said Tullis grabbing the misshapen wizard and hugging it close. “It’s just what I always wanted!”

  He took the gallant thief-prince, with its twin swords and made as if to attack the wizard with it.

  “Pew! Pew!” he yelled as the wizard cast an imaginary spell, killing the thief-prince immediately.

  “Uncle Tan, can I be a wizard when I grow up?”

  Fourteen

  Shaking his head at the foolishness of youth, Skulks said his farewells with the intention of returning to the palace. Mindful of Grindy’s words that he should replace his clothing, he stopped off at a clothing store on the way.

  “One black tunic and one pair of black trousers, please,” he asked the assistant.

  “Oh dear me, no!” cried she. “We don’t stock such items here! Please, browse our wares and see what you can find!”

  He spent fifteen minutes looking through the displays, finally settling on a pair of baggy green silk pantaloons and a white shirt with blue epaulettes. As he was about to hand over his coins, images popped unbidden into his head of the hat he’d bought in Hardened, and Spout’s face as she’d seen him in it.

  “This is not me!” Skulks exclaimed aloud, to the puzzlement of the shop assistant. With that, he dropped the unbought clothing and left the shop to return to the palace.

  By the time he arrived, it was almost time to eat. His colleagues in the Hardened trade delegation were all looking suitably smart, while he looked like he was wearing clothes he’d stolen from the rat-gnawed body of a dead tramp.

  “Come here,” said Captain Honey, taking him to her room. She produced a needle, thread and several squares of black cloth which she used to sew and patch his clothing, not jabbing him once.

  “You have to learn this in the army,” she said, smiling at him.

  “King Meugh’s probably going to try and kill us soon,” said Skulks, keeping his voice low in case they were overheard.

  “I know. We’re going to leave tonight, after we’ve met the King.”

  “I have to rescue the Warp and Weft,” he said.

  “We’ll wait for you as long as we can. Hopefully Meugh won’t try anything till tomorrow and you can make it to the Hardened’s Reach.”

  “He’s a demon and they don’t act in the manner you might expect.”

  “As long as we’re expecting him to try and kill us or capture us, we should be one step ahead.” She ruffled his hair. “All done. Let’s get back to the others.”

  As they made their way to the feasting hall, Skulks remembered the small demon in the house of the Popples and how it had tried unsuccessfully to cast a spell. Walking alongside Adept Frieda Berry, he explained the situation to her and asked for her opinion.

  “You’re a marked man, I’m told. Perhaps whoever has marked you lacks the power to project their demons this far away.”

  “I see,” said Skulks. “Suggesting that the culprit lives in Ko-Chak, rather than here in Rhult.”

  “That would be my guess,” said Berry.

  “Meaning that it’s not King Meugh who’s marked me. I am therefore no closer to finding out who the culprit is and bringing them to justice!”

  “You may be correct, but at least you can feel more comfortable in the knowledge that fewer demons will attack you while you remain in Rhult.”

  Skulks thought this little consolation, but thanked Berry for her advice and opinion.

  At this point they reached the feasting hall wherein they had met King Meugh the previous evening. Tonight he had preceded them and was sitting at the head of the table, with Wibnius Ploot to his right. The King’s mock-jocularity and mask of friendship was no more.

  “Sit!” he commanded, indicating chairs around the empty table. Skulks was already disappointed, for he had anticipated snacks.

  Ferty Slipper pulled forth his trusty record-book and writing-stick as Spout cleared her throat to speak.

  “King Meugh,” said she, “shall we resume our discussions about trade? I feel we are close to a breakthrough.”

  “Shortly, shortly,” said Meugh, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “There are other things I would discuss first.”

  “Splendid!” said Spout. “What should we talk about?”

  “My kingdom is under attack!” said Meugh, revealing a demonic penchant for the melodramatic. “Today alone the usurper Lula Grindy has escaped from her prison cell, whilst reports reach my ears that three wealthy patron families of the crown have been burgled! I can’t allow such lawlessness to persist in my city!”

  “Burglaries and prison escapes happen all the time,” said Adept Berry.

  “Indeed they do,” said Meugh. “But I have also heard that Grindy didn’t escape her cell unaided, for one of my wizards was found dead nearby. All of this is starting to sound like a concerted effort to destabilize my kingdom.”

  “And why are you telling us this?” asked Spout tartly.

  King Meugh looked at her. “If I was a suspicious man, I might start to wonder why these events have taken place so beautifully in time with your arrival here.”

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Spout. “We are here to talk about trade and look to strengthen the ties between our great city and your great kingdom!”

  “That is good to hear,” said Meugh. He clapped his hands together once. “Then let us talk about trade!”

  Within moments of his hand clapping, the servants’ door opened and trays were brought out. One man, carrying a tray of delicious-looking pastries was distracted by the chest of Captain Honey as she stretched luxuriously. Consequently, he stumbled over her carelessly-positioned foot, scattering the pastries onto the floor. One or two might have been salvageable were it not for the fact that Captain Honey trod on them by mistake in her haste to stand up and assist.

  “Oh dear, I’m frightfully sorry! Look at these beautiful pastries which I have spoiled!”

  King Meugh forced a smile to his face.

  “Let us not worry about pastries. There is plenty more food for us to enjoy.”

  The remainder of the evening was occupied by a smattering of uncomfortable small-talk and concluded with the outlines of a trade agreement to bring hotleaf to Rhult through Casks; the details were to be ironed out on a subsequent trade visit.

  “I hope you’ll stay for a day or two, to enjoy the sights of Casks and the surrounding countryside,” said King Meugh. “You’re welcome to stay in my palace for as long as you wish.”

  With that, they were dismissed. Wibnius Ploot escorted them to their rooms. He looked distinctly green around the gills.

  “Are you all right, Mr Ploot?” asked Spout in concern.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Probably just something I ate.”

  As soon as Ploot was gone, they gathered in Heathen Spout’s room where all of the spy holes were now unsubtly covered up.

  “They are going to come for us soon,” said Captain Honey. “We need to get back to the Hardened’s Reach.”

  Heathen Spout looked like she might propose they stay until the morning, but saw that both Honey and Skulks were grim-faced and serious.

  “Very well. Are we going immediately?”

  There was a faint crash and a thump from Clerk Souter’s room next door.

  “I think that’s our sign,” said Captain Honey. There was a thumping sound here as well, emanating from a section of wall near one corner. It sounded like someone was trying to get in, though there was no sign of a door.

  “A secret door?” Honey asked. “Fancy that! And it looks like someone has wedged it shut!”

  With Honey to the front and Skulks to the rear, they left the room in haste. It wouldn’t be long before the assassins ventured into the corridor to see if the other rooms were empty as well. As they passed Ferty Slipper’s room, the door burst open and a man spilled out. More men woul
d have spilled out, but Captain Honey had skewered the first with a viciously serrated short dagger that had appeared in her hand. He fell back, clutching his throat as the group behind him stumbled and wavered at the unexpected violence which had been visited upon one of their number, for it was they who were expecting to mete out the violence.

  Skulks rammed the door shut, flattening the face of one man and snipping off the fingertips of another who had been foolish enough to leave his fingers in the hinges. He’d need more than an ice pack to stop the pain shooting from his smashed digits. Screams could be heard as Skulks used his Wielding to lock the door and twist the mechanism into place, ensuring that these men would bother them no more. He’d soon managed to seal off three more of the doors in a similar fashion, but one door was too far away behind them and another was already opening ahead of them.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Heathen Spout saw Skulks vanish. His outline seemed to blur for a split second and then he was gone. Six men advanced down the corridor from behind, shouting the alarm. Sparks flickered amongst them, causing them to shout in pain and fear as Adept Berry cast a friendly reminder about the perils of soldiery. Two fell over, with their hearts shocked into stillness, while two more patted at flames on their clothing as smoke rose from their hair. By now Skulks was behind them and though he preferred not to stab people in the back, felt obligated to do so in this instance, killing three in rapid succession and knocking the last one out cold.

  At the front of the group Captain Honey was giving a fine display of Dirty Dirty Combat that even her mother would have been proud of. Two men were already blinded with their eyes full of grit and would never find out where Honey had procured the sand at such short notice. Another one received a full head-butt to the bridge of his nose, the top of Captain Honey’s head being the last thing he saw before tears clouded his eyes and a kneecap found his testicles. As the assassin slumped to the floor gasping, Ferty Slipper compounded his misery by hitting him on the back of the head with a heavy ornate paperweight he’d stolen from his room. The blow produced a small chip in one corner of the paperweight, and it would forever bother Slipper by catching his eye.